Beyond Euphoria - Scotland 2026

        

Blood rushed through my arms. My chest pounded the hangboard I used for pullups. In the back of my mind I was hanging off a frozen overhung wall by the tips of my axes, smashing between small edges of rock and ice. Safe. Comfortable. Happy.

Reality couldn't have been more different. Not long before a planned Patagonia trip and I had just fractured my ankle. I was stuck indoors all day, hardly able to move. I let my frustration out with every repetition.

Six weeks later and I'm no longer at home on a hangboard. I'm doing another set of press-ups on the creaking wooden kitchen floor of a mountain hut halfway up Ben Nevis. The restless excitement of the night before has done little to favour my muscles, and I feel lethargic and limp. Press-ups are an attempt to warm them up.

In between sets I eat my breakfast. Chorizo, eggs and avocado on toast. I wonder if my ambition is getting the better of me. Today I'm attempting a first ascent on one of the longest, steepest rock faces on Ben nevis.

Pitch 1 on my first attempt of the route

I'd tried the route twice before, but only once attempted the crux. I fell off, barely halfway up, desperately pumped, sending an axe flying into the abyss and snapping my leashes. This time I'm not sure it will end much differently, but I am convincing myself I have a chance. 

The freezing air bites my face as I step outside. It's early January, and the sun hasn't yet risen. Callum, my climbing partner starts trudging away into the darkness. I follow his tracks in the deep powdery snow and the soft red glow of my headtorch. 

Callum is one of my favourite friends to go climbing with. He's calm, calculated and encouraging. Now he's a father he'll certainly climb safely and I feel very much at ease with him. It helps that he's pretty good too!  

Plumes of snow fall and splash me in the face from up above. Callum is thrutching his way around an awkward bulge, his crampons skid and scratch the ice smear he needs to trust to make the next move. He continues upwards.

I switch my head torch off to save battery, and far away can make out two tiny dots of light leaving the hut. Some stars peer out between the passing clouds. I stamp around the ground to stay warm and drink from my flask.

A voice echoes down from above, the first pitch is done. Daylight is only just creeping in on the horizon, and I'm confident we'll be making good time.

Callum struggles a little more leading the second pitch, but his grunts and gurns don't last too long before he reaches the belay. 

                                             

Leading Pitch 2.

My previous attempt at the crux pitch was neither a glowing success nor an abject failure. It had been very intimidating setting off up such a steep wall, unsure if the climbing was even possible, let alone if I would find gear to protect myself. The price of climbing cautiously and slowly was paid by my forearms. They exploded at around half height, my fingers uncurled from my axes and I fell.

Trying as hard as I could had gotten me 15 metres up the wall, but that was only halfway. To succeed on the next attempt I'd have to dig even deeper. Was I wasting mine and Callum's time trying? 

My axe skids off a small flat ledge. I breathe deeply and calm myself down. Words of reassurance float up from the belay but I don't process them. Flash pump is creeping into my forearms. I have to keep faith that the feeling will subside.

Flakes of sideways snow hit me and melt down my cheeks. My heart pounds as blood pumps through my body, I pull big moves between good hooks and flat edges. I'm totally present.

The crack I've been following thins out. I place one final piece of protection and promise myself I won't look for any higher up. The lactic acid burns and my forearms feel like they are going to burst. The searing pain is such that it'd be easy to give up and fall, making some excuse to Callum about why I couldn't try any harder.

My axe pick hooks onto another tiny ripple in the rock, and my feet twist on equally  small edges. Every sinew in my arm contracts and I reach up again. My gloves are being dragged away from the handles of my axes. My last piece of gear is far below my feet but I'm fully committed. I feel alive.

I thrash my way over the overhang and slump onto a snowy ledge. The weight leaves my arms and cold air fills my lungs. 

 

I have nothing left to give and nowhere left to climb. I'm empty, content - and Beyond Euphoria.

Thanks to kit sponsors:

Petzl

La Sportiva